


You're a Hot Mess (and I'm Falling for You)

by Rainne



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Humor, New Year fic, Other, could go either way, pre-Darcy/Bucky, pre-darcy/steve - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainne/pseuds/Rainne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Darcy/Steve - seamed stockings.  (there was other stuff but basically that's it, that's the fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're a Hot Mess (and I'm Falling for You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amusewithaview](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview/gifts).



> Happy New Year!

It was after noon on New Year’s.  Steve was standing at the stove in the common area, frying eggs and potatoes for himself and Bucky, who was in his usual spot on the window seat, staring down at the changed city.  “It’s weird, isn’t it?” he said casually, dishing up breakfast.  “2015.  You oughta be ninety-eight this year.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, resting his head against the glass.  “Sometimes I feel like I’m a hundred and ninety-eight.”

“Me, too,” Steve agreed softly.  He switched the stove off and set the plates on the counter, and Bucky was just standing up to join him when the elevator chimed and Darcy Lewis came stumbling out.

She was apparently just making it in from the night before, clad as she was in a tiny black dress that just barely covered the tops of her black-stockinged thighs, and she was barefoot, her shoes dangling from the hand that held her tiny clutch purse.  Her hair was a disaster, falling all around her face and shoulders, and her makeup – what was left of it – was severely smeared.  She also smelled like a distillery.

“Damn, girl,” Bucky blurted.  “You look like you got rode hard and put away wet.”

Her eyes slowly tracked toward the sound of his voice and attempted to focus on him.  Her lips spread wide in a grin.  “Heyyyy, Bucky!” she exclaimed, her voice heavy with drink.  “Happy New Year!”  She waved at him, as though from a long distance away, and swayed in place.

He leapt forward to catch her before she fell, and guided her to sit at the counter.  Steve had already turned the stove back on and was frying up some more food.  Bucky came around and brought her a glass of water.  “Here,” he said.  “Drink this.  How hung over are you?”

She glared indignantly.  “I resent that, sir!  _I_ am still drunk!”

Steve chuckled softly.  “Good party, then?”

“Fucking _epic,_ ” Darcy agreed.  She downed half the glass of water in her left hand, then blinked when Bucky pushed a plate in front of her and a fork into her right.  “Hey, what?”

“Eat,” Bucky said.  “Or you’ll be miserable in a few hours.”

She stared down at the plate for a long moment before exclaiming, “Oh my God, greasy breakfast, _best ever,_ ”  and digging in. 

“So, where was the party?” Steve asked, turning over the new batch of eggs.  “I didn’t think Stark had one.”

“Johnny Shorm,” Darcy mumbled around a mouthful of potato.  She sighed, her eyes going dreamy for a second.  “So hot.”  She reached out with her right hand, shoving Bucky’s metal shoulder.  “Johnny Shorm is _so hot._ ”

Bucky laughed softly.  “Yeah, yeah, great pun, sweetheart.”

“No, I _mean_ it,” Darcy insisted.  Then she leaned over and utterly failed to whisper, “He looks like Steve!”

Steve choked softly, nearly spilling the eggs he was plating.  Bucky beamed like all his Christmases had come at once.  “Yes, he does,” he agreed.  He slung his metal arm around Darcy’s shoulders, holding her up while also appearing chummy.  “You think Stevie’s hot, don’tcha, Doll?”

“ _So hot,_ ” Darcy groaned, leaning her face into Bucky’s shoulder.  “Like _fire._ ”

“Eat,” Steve interrupted, his face bright red.  “Before you pass out in it.”

Darcy pouted at Steve, then pouted more at Bucky.  “He doesn’t like me very much, does he?” she utterly failed (again) to whisper.

“He likes you just fine, Dollface,” Bucky replied, patting her shoulder and pointing her back toward her plate.  “He’s just embarrassed.  It’s okay.”

Darcy sighed mournfully, then all but inhaled the rest of her food.  Bucky made her finish her water and then take a bottle from the refrigerator with her as she slid off the stool.  “Thanks for the food,” she said, swaying for a moment before catching her balance.  “I think I’m gonna go pass out for... like... _ever._ ”

“Be seeing you, Doll,” Bucky replied, grinning.  Steve mumbled something around a mouthful of egg.

And then, forgetting her clutch and shoes, she turned around and staggered back toward the elevator.  And both men froze in place, eyes going huge and mouths dry as they stared at the slender black seams that ran in perfectly straight lines up the backs of her calves and her thighs, disappearing under that minuscule skirt.

The elevator chimed, and Darcy vanished into it, and the doors slid shut behind her, and both of them stood there, still staring, for a long moment.  Then Bucky turned and looked at his best friend.  “I swear to God, Stevie,” he said softly.  “I’m givin’ you a week’s head start and then it’s every man for himself.”

Steve nodded once.  “Duly noted.”


End file.
